


Into the Woods

by AustinB



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Camping, First Meetings, Floatilla, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Midwestern Bullshit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SO MUCH FLUFF, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Wilderness, and camping, just like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustinB/pseuds/AustinB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Bucky wants is 8 days of wilderness solitude with his friends. </p><p>What he gets is way better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Woods

**Sunday**

Bucky takes a deep breath of humid Midwestern morning air.

Clint's podunk hometown doesn't have much, but it does have a million little lakes with great camping. He's been looking forward to this for months. Turning his brain off once they started bumping down the dirt road had been surprisingly easy. His job is fun most of the time, but it's also a shit ton of work. Tony has been on his ass steady for new readouts from the upgraded prosthesis, and stress is unsurprisingly not good for getting a true analysis, since the thing is wired to his biological system. Working for a friend has its pitfalls, but it's been going well since he accepted the position a year and a half ago. He's still extremely glad Tony decided not to follow through with his threat of actually coming again this year.

Plenty of times they'd done this trip and had the whole lake to themselves. This time, though, it sounds like they have neighbors down the road. The quiet noises of them setting up their tents the afternoon before and the sloshing of ice in coolers was muffled by the copse of trees separating the only two campsites on the lake.

Bucky sleeps in the back of Clint's truck, under the cap. Always has. Clint has a stupidly large tent that he shares with Dugan and Thor. Under their communal screen tent, Bucky has set up the folding table and propane grill, and is cracking eggs into a bowl when Clint and Thor come strolling back into the site from their morning walk to the outhouse. Clint looks dejected, while Thor is grinning sunnily.

"Whatsa matter, shit stuck sideways?"

"We met our neighbors," Thor says, laughing. "The woman is—"

"That's not a woman, that's an angel from heaven," Clint says. "Or maybe the devil herself, I'm not sure, but holy shit. Holy. Shit."

"There are two men, too, she might be—"

"Love conquers all!"

"Oh my god," Bucky mutters fondly, turning back to his pancake batter. 

They're in their tenth year of the annual camping tradition. It's always been him and Clint, and Dugan more often than not, but other people rotate through when they can get the time off work. Tony came once, stayed one night and left. The outdoors isn't his thing. Bruce hasn't missed a year since he got roped into the group, but his yoga retreats have been gaining popularity, and summer is a busy time for him. Falsworth may yet show up in the middle of the week, no one can really be sure.

Bucky's glad to be back. He had to miss last year, since he was recovering from surgery at the time. It feels a little weird this year, since not _all_ of him is here.

His left arm is a cold, shiny metal made of high-tech interlocking plates. The explosion took everything below the bicep, and complications with the surgery pushed the amputation up to his shoulder. Designed as a pet project by Tony, it's the most advanced (approved) prosthetic on the planet, and since Bucky's voluntary guinea-piggery, there've been 12 more made for vets like him.

He doesn't mind the thing. Sometimes he forgets it's not his own arm, until he looks down at it. He can feel pressure, temperature and some textures in his fingertips, but it's not quite the same. The scarring on his shoulder makes him wear T-shirts rather than tanks, or no shirt at all, like he'd prefer on a hot day like today.

"Want some blueberries?" a deep voice asks from behind him. Bucky turns around and nearly drops his wooden spoon in the dirt because the man is...there might be a Japanese word for the beauty of him, but Bucky's pretty sure nothing in English would come close to encompassing it.

His white T-shirt is obscenely tight and he has it pulled up at the hem to create a basket for a bunch of dark blue berries. He must have washed them in the lake because the lower half of the shirt is wet and water droplets are trickling down over his abs and into the waistband of his loose workout shorts.

"For your pancakes?" he says, clearing his throat, and Bucky realizes he must have been staring. "I washed them in the lake, but I'm not sure how much cleaner that makes them."

"At least the pee will be diluted," Bucky says, and waves him into the screen tent. "Thanks," he says, as he scoops out a handful from the man's shirt-basket and dumps them in his batter. "You our neighbor?"

"Yeah. Steve," he says, and shifts his hold on his shirt hem so he can stick his hand out. Bucky shakes it. His hand is warm, solid and wet. Bucky's eye twitches.

"Bucky. Nice to meet you. Stick around for some breakfast; Aunt Jemima's own recipe."

"Sure, let me go give these to Tasha. Be right back."

Bucky lets him go a few steps before turning around to watch him fully. Clint comes up from the lake just as Steve is disappearing down the two-track dirt road connecting the sites and takes note of the glazed look on Bucky's face.

"I should've known. Gay lecher."

Bucky shakes his head, starting to deny it. "No, it's...he's..." He waves his hand toward the other site instead of finishing his sentence.

"Perfect in every way?"

Bucky scoffs weakly. "He's not even that good-looking."

"Yeah ok, keep telling yourself that. He's probably dating either Natasha or Sam, anyway." A horrified look crosses his face. "Or both. Oh, I need to sit down."

While the pancakes are cooking, Bucky sticks his head into the back of the truck and rifles around in his duffle for a different shirt. He's not sure why; it's not like a cross between a male model and an actual marble statue would be interested in him, but one can be optimistic.

"Those smell great," Steve says when he comes back down the trail. He's changed his shirt too, to a loose blue tank top with a white and red pattern on it. His arms are ridiculous, Bucky notes unhappily.

There's a pile of bacon and a stack of pancakes teetering precariously on a paper plate in the middle of the card table, and Dugan and Clint have pulled their lawn chairs up and started tucking in. Bucky grabs the peanut butter from a paper bag next to the grill and sets it out next to the syrup. Clint hisses at it.

"Thanks again for the berries," Bucky says, pulling Thor's chair over for Steve to sit in. Thor himself is probably only halfway done with his swim and won't be joining them.

"No problem. Sam doesn't like them."

"Blasphemy! May the camp gods strike him dead!" Clint shouts dramatically. Steve looks startled, but amused. That's good. His friends can be a lot to take sometimes. 

"We've been camping here for a decade. They come up with some crazy shit after drinking all night," Bucky says, trying to explain without making them sound like complete lunatics.

"They?" Clint raises his eyebrows at him.

"I am never crazy when I drink," he says primly. 

"We have to physically restrain you from jumping over the fire."

Steve laughs; a deep, warm rumble that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Bucky's too distracted by it to properly respond to Clint.

Steve liberally spreads peanut butter on his pancakes and foregoes the syrup altogether. Probably some kind of health and diet nut. They'd never get along anyway.

When Steve takes his first bite, he makes an appreciative sound that goes straight to Bucky's head. 

"Aunt Jemima really knew what she was doing," he says with a sidelong grin. 

"Yeah but the ratio of powder to milk is really what makes it," Bucky insists.

"That and the wild blueberries," Steve says, spearing one with his plastic fork to show Bucky, then popping it in his mouth.

"Sure, whatever, just give away all the credit. I slave over a hot stove all day for this meal and you heathens don't even appreciate-"

"Here we go again, Mama Bucky," Clint says.

Steve laughs and jokes along with them until most of the food is demolished. Bucky smacks Clint's hand away from the last couple pancakes and tucks them back into the kitchen for Thor. 

Steve offers to help clean up, but Bucky had done it while the last cakes were cooking. Military efficiency.

"Ok, well, thanks for breakfast!" Steve calls out as he heads off. Bucky waves goodbye. 

"See ya around!"

Bucky reads in his hammock for a while, floats on the lake, plays cards with Clint and takes a nap. All in all, the perfect day. He could've done with a little more Steve in his afternoon, but all the peeping he did in the direction of their campsite was for naught. The blonde man didn't come down by the water when Bucky was on the lake and it's completely private unless you take a stroll down the trail, and Bucky isn't stupid. Steve is probably dating Natasha or Sam (or someone else entirely). There's no way a man like that is single.

It's probably better if Bucky doesn't see too much of him. 

* * *

**Monday**

"Good morning," Steve says. Bucky's eyes pop open in surprise. He's holding his coffee mug by the steps that lead down to the lake, talking quietly with Thor.

"Steve!" Thor says by way of greeting. 

"Is it still morning?" Bucky croaks.

"Nah, but you're having your coffee, so." Steve has one hand jammed in the pocket of a pair of sweatpants that are rolled up to his calves and his feet are bare. Bucky's not sure why, but it makes him smile. He's been holding his coffee cup with his metal hand, but he switches it to his right hand so he can tuck his left in the pocket of his shorts.The porcelain burns the skin on his flesh hand. He's wearing a T-shirt and most of the arm is on display, anyway, but it still makes him feel a little better.

There's a pause. Thor has been awake since the ass-crack of dawn, probably; the man metabolizes alcohol like a champ, but Bucky has just managed to roll out of his sleeping bag, so his brain is not quite up to flirting with Steve. Not to mention his teeth feel fuzzy and his hair is hanging limply around his ears.

It looks suspiciously like there might be a blush creeping onto Steve's cheeks; but he must have just spent too much time in the sun yesterday.

"So, uh, I was gonna take a walk around the lake in a bit, if any of you guys wanted to come?" Steve asks, flicking his eyes to Thor to include him in the invitation.

"No, thank you, I think I'll head into town to call Jane," Thor says, and Bucky squints at him. Funny, since Thor was just talking about wanting to take a walk around the lake, and he'd gone into town to call Jane the day before. Bucky glares discreetly at his friend, who ignores him.

"And everyone else is still asleep," Thor says. "So."

"Right, sorry," Steve says. "I'm probably still too early. Sounded like you guys were up pretty late last night."

"Shit," Bucky mutters. "I'm sorry. I hope we didn't disturb you."

"No, no, not at all," Steve says in a rush, then grins. "Well, maybe a little. But it's ok. You have some pretty talented musicians in your group," he says slyly, and Bucky can't help but laugh.

"Don't let Clint hear you. He'll punish us with the harmonica for the rest of our lives."

"Was that you I heard singing?" Steve asks, and—damn, maybe that is a blush, because it's a little darker now, and spreading down his neck. Bucky licks his lips involuntarily.

"Probably."

"Did you jump over the fire, too?"

"Nah. It wasn't a fire-walking night. I save those for the middle of the week."

The hottest guy he's ever seen is smiling at him, the sun is shining, warming his face and Bucky ... Bucky is happy. Despite a metal arm and PTSD up to his ears, in this moment he's happy. He didn't know if he'd ever get here again, and it feels damn good.

"So, did you want to come walk? With me?" Steve asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at some general point near the lake.

"Sure. Give me," he glances at his coffee, "twenty minutes?"

"Take your time. We've got all day. Just head down whenever you want," he says tipping his head back toward his campsite.

"Alright, see you in a bit," Bucky says, and when Steve doesn't say goodbye to Thor, Bucky realizes he's nowhere in sight. The man is a veritable mountain, how had he not noticed him slip away?

* * *

Clint literally crawls out of his tent a few minutes later, and Bucky makes him a cup of coffee. He drinks it too fast and burns his mouth, so he grabs himself a beer from the cooler, and tosses one to Bucky too.

Dugan strolls out of the tent, stretches and grabs a beer, then settles happily into a lawn chair.

"Gonna break your record today?" Bucky asks.

"We'll see," he replies, slouching deeper. The record is currently 12 hours without moving his ass from his chair, and he's always vowing to break it.

After washing out his coffee cup, Bucky grabs another beer from the cooler and heads down the trail toward the other site. It must be two o'clock by now, perfectly acceptable beer time.

Steve and Company's camp set-up is far more sophisticated than Bucky's. There's a hatchback and an SUV parked along the treeline, and a man who is not Steve is rifling through some paper bags in the back of one of them. Bucky's no mountaineer, but he can tell the three small tents are high-end. There's a metal table set up next to the fire, and a red-headed woman sitting by it in a folding chair.

"Aftern—" she starts.

"Hey," Steve says, coming up from the lake. "Bucky, this is Natasha." She looks like she's trying not to smile at Steve, then gets up to offer her hand. Bucky switches the two beers to his left so he can shake it. 

"Nice to meet you."

"You too," she says, and finally lets the smile out. It looks a little...dangerous.

"Ready?" Steve asks, slinging a backpack over his shoulder and heading back down to the lake. Bucky waves goodbye to Natasha and she puts two fingers to her temple in a lazy salute that makes him grin. 

Bucky follows Steve down to the lake, where they fall in step on the wide sandy beach. Steve is wearing a pair of fitted cargo capris, lightweight sneakers, a tight workout-style shirt and a backpack that has a hose for water looped through the strap. Bucky looks down at his Metallica T-shirt, swim trunks and flip flops.

"Am I way underdressed?"

The lake walk can't be more than two miles. But of course Steve would be one of those fitness and outdoor fanatics. 

Steve turns and looks him up and down. Bucky fights the urge to tuck his left arm behind his back. Steve clears his throat and rubs his hand over the back of his neck, which is suspiciously red. An outdoor fanatic should be better with the sunscreen, right?

"No, not at all. I'm just very prepared."

Bucky wonders if that means he has condoms in that stupid backpack, then manually drags his mind back out of the gutter. 

"I'm, uh, I'm a product tester for an outdoor company. So they send me a bunch of stuff before manufacturing and I help them develop it. I get to keep all the prototypes, so I figure why not use them?"

"Ah," Bucky says. Somehow that's not any better than him being an actual fitness freak. The people who _make_ stuff for fitness freaks ask him for advice. "That's super cool. You want a beer?" Bucky asks, feeling like an utter idiot.

"Yeah," Steve answers, looking so earnest Bucky wants to punch him. Then kiss him.

Bucky hands him the can and he pops the top. "So what do you do?"

"I'm kind of a product tester, too. This arm; I work for Tony Stark, developing and testing prosthesis."

"Wow, that's awesome."

"Yeah, except for the part where I had to lose my arm to get the job."

"Oh," Steve glances at Bucky, looking mortified. When he catches sight of the crooked smile on Bucky's face, he laughs. "Oh."

They walk a little further in silence. It's not really silent, though. The birds are chirping and the leaves are rustling in the mild summer breeze. The water's a little low this year, but it provides them with ample room to walk, instead of having to trudge through the shallows or be pushed into the brush. 

"It's really amazing. I've never—I've not seen anything like it before," Steve says haltingly, and it takes Bucky a moment to remember what they were talking about. Oh right, his arm. Maybe Steve'll be one of those weirdos with an amputation fetish. Wouldn't that be great? He'd probably want to sleep with him, and Bucky wouldn't even have to worry about him being perfection personified.

"Uh, thanks." He's not terribly comfortable talking about it. Objectively, he knows it looks rad. But he can't seem to get past the self-imposed feeling of unworthiness. Being somehow _less_ because of it.

"How long are you guys here?" Steve says, changing the subject abruptly. 

"'Til Sunday. You?"

"Saturday. We usually go to a lake just East of here, but it was booked this year."

Bucky can't help but be awfully glad for that. 

"So are you and Natasha together?" Bucky asks outright, because he can't think of a subtle way to go about it, and if he's already dating someone, it'll really lower Bucky's blood pressure. This week is supposed to be relaxing.

He glances over to find Steve frowning slightly.

"Ah, no. We're just friends."

"Oh, good." Clint will be over the moon. "How about Sam?"

Steve chuckles, but it sounds strained. He's not frowning anymore, but he's not really smiling either. "No, they're just friends too."

Bucky had actually been asking about him, but he's not about to clarify that. Doesn't want to come on too strong. He'll have to think of a smoother way to suss out that information.

"Well, Clint will be thrilled to hear that. I think he fell in love with her when they met yesterday."

After a moment, Steve laughs. A real laugh; loud and unreserved and absolutely breathtaking.

"Tell him good luck. She's a hard nut to crack."

"Yeah, she's a little scary," Bucky admits, and Steve laughs again. Being the cause of that sound makes a little swell of pride puff in his chest.

"She's so hardcore it's ridiculous. I met her on a mountain."

"And here I thought you sounded like a city boy."

Steve's grin is sunny and kind of addictive. "I am! Brooklyn. I just like to get out of town."

"That's crazy, I live in Brooklyn, too. You guys camp up here every year?"

Steve tucks his finished beer into the pocket on his backpack and gestures to Bucky's, who's been holding onto it upside down, to let it drain before bringing it back to camp. 

"You can put it in my pack," he says, and Bucky just barely restrains himself from making an innuendo. Something like _I'll put it in your pack, alright._ Instead he just tucks the can into the other pocket of the backpack. "Yeah, we've been coming for four or five years. Riley, Sam's boyfriend, is—was—from around here."

"Ah," Bucky says. "I'm sorry."

"It's been two years. It's getting better. Hey, look," Steve's voice drops to a whisper, and he wraps his hand around Bucky's arm. His _right_ arm, thank god. He leans in close to Bucky and points to the woods, where there's a doe picking her way through the trees. Steve drops his hand and they watch the deer as she moves away, then catches Bucky's eye and they start to walk again.

They chat some more about places they've lived and stupid shit they get up to with their friends, and stop a couple other times to watch some wildlife. Steve doesn't touch him again to get his attention. Bucky wonders if it's intentional and how he can get those hands on him again. Steve sets the pace pretty slow as they get nearer to the sites and Bucky wonders if that's intentional, too.

"Hey, you guys should come have a beer with us tonight after dinner," Bucky says. It's perfectly innocent. No expectations, just making new friends.

"Yeah, that would be cool. See you in a bit," Steve says as Bucky turns up the steps to his site. Once Bucky climbs the four steps, he glances over his shoulder. He expects Steve to be halfway down the beach, but through the few small trees, he can see Steve just starting to walk back toward his site.

* * *

Bucky tries not to work himself up and fails miserably. Clint is even worse. They have a few beers as they clean up after dinner and start the fire, but Clint keeps glancing over at the trail. 

Bucky changed into a pair of jeans, the ones he'd worn to work on the day they'd left, so thankfully they're halfway decent and a moss green henley he'd packed in case they went to a bar in town. He's three beers in and Dum-Dum has just broken out the blackberry brandy when he hears hello's being called out.

Steve, Sam and Natasha are thrown into the firelight, each holding a folding chair. Steve is carrying a six-pack, Sam holds a bottle of amber liquid that doesn't have a label and Natasha is carrying a box of wine—a red.

Bucky makes introductions to those who haven't met, and shakes Sam's hand. They arrange themselves around the fire haphazardly. Bucky winds up between Sam and Clint, which is tolerable because Sam seems like a cool guy and he's got a good view across the fire of Steve. In the flickering yellow-orange glow, his blue eyes are luminous. He's wearing dark grey cargo pants with sneakers and a navy zip-up hoodie over a white T-shirt. 

After a few sips of the abomination Sam's carrying in his bottle—apple pie infused vodka for god's sake—Bucky forgets that he's crushing hard on the hottest guy he's ever seen, the one currently sitting across the fire looking sinfully good. He and Sam have a lot in common, actually. He was pararescue, and works at the VA in Brooklyn. He seems like the kind of guy who could help you just by talking to you, without even knowing you were being helped. Without even knowing you _needed_  help.

Clint has managed to migrate over next to Natasha and Thor has taken his spot. Dugan has gotten out his guitar and is providing some background music while still expecting full applause at the end of each song.

"Give it to Steve," Natasha says to him at the end of a song. Steve glares at her, but he's smiling when he takes the proffered instrument. Bucky's brain is already starting to misfire at the sight of him with a guitar in his hands, and then Steve starts to play. He strums a CCR song, missing a couple notes and getting good-natured boo's from the crowd. He has a nice voice too, goddammit. Bucky feels almost jealous of the easy way his flesh and bone fingers move along the strings, but when the blonde man forgets a couple words, Bucky chimes in, because he loves this fucking song.

_"I hear a hurricane a-blowin. I know the end is comin soon."_

Steve shoots him a grateful look, then juts his chin at him to ask for the rest of the song, so Bucky keeps singing as Steve strums. Steve glances down at the strings every now and then to get the right chord, but otherwise looks straight at Bucky, who couldn't look away if there was a bomb going off next to him. The applause at the end of the song is rowdy.

"Duo of the year!" Clint calls.

"Another!" Thor yells.

Steve begs off, passing the guitar back to Dugan. He only plays another couple songs before he gets too drunk to remember the chords. Steve and Natasha head back to their campsite after a few hours, and he waves goodbye to Bucky, who's still talking with Sam. He wishes he'd gotten a chance to get him alone, but he's got another five days to gather his courage.

* * *

**Tuesday**

Bucky doesn't see Steve at all the next day. He finishes the book he brought and borrows Thor's, floats around on the lake some more, and goes out behind their site with Dugan to forage for some dead branches and dry stumps to burn.

It's another hot day, and he strips his shirt off when he gets back down to the lake to dip his head in the water. He wipes his shirt over his face and neck, then throws it over his shoulder. Hands on his hips, he takes a minute to look over the lake. It's still and glassy, rippling here and there where bugs land on it. The sun bakes the pine trees, and the smell of hot sap is incomparable. Bucky glances along the beach as he turns back to fix some lunch, but he's the only one around.

* * *

**Wednesday**

He could just go over there. Maybe he could take a beer. Or some firewood. They're sort of friends now, anyway.

It's almost unbearably hot, and Bucky is floating in his little inflatable raft in the middle of the lake. His shirt is wadded up behind his head and his eyes are closed against the sun. The internal cooling system in his arm is whirring happily, lulling him into half-sleep, when he feels something bump against the bottom of his raft. He shoots upright, thinking he drifted further to shore than he realized, but he's still in the middle; there aren't any downed trees to brush against. He feels another bump and lets out a completely manly squeak. 

Steve's head pops up from the water a few feet away, choking on water and laughing.

"I could hear that _underwater_."

"Shit on a stick, _Steve_ , you just dredged up all my childhood fears of killer fish," Bucky says and flops back onto his raft. 

"So," Steve says, voice getting closer. Bucky sees one hand come up over the edge of his raft. "You probably won't like it when I tip you over?"

"Steve."

"Yes, Bucky?" he replies evenly. Bucky's still lying on the bottom of the raft and Steve is floating just above the water, so he can't see his face. Which is all well and good, because Bucky's grin is fit to split his face in half. 

"If you tip me over—" he doesn't get to finish his threat. He feels Steve's hands on his back through the inflated floor of the raft as he turns it over and dumps Bucky into the lake. It's frigid and shockingly refreshing on his hot skin.

He comes back up laughing, pushing his hair out of his face. Steve is placidly treading water close by, his nose and mouth under the surface and it's too tempting to resist splashing him in the face.

Steve is about to retaliate when Bucky feels something brush against his foot. It's probably seaweed—or whatever the fresh water equivalent of seaweed is—but he still flips his lid. While he's screaming about killer walleye and thrashing toward the raft, Steve is laughing uncontrollably, but does manage to turn the raft right side up for him when he gets to it and heaves himself in.

Steve is still laughing as he motors Bucky back toward shore. Bucky splashes water over his head indignantly. 

When they get back to the site, Bucky pulls his raft up onto the beach. He turns to Steve, who—shirtless and dripping wet—is a sight to behold. Bucky keeps his eyes firmly above the shoulders, but it's a struggle. Steve holds out a wadded up piece of fabric. Bucky's shirt. He snatches it back.

"When you hear me screaming with night terrors tonight, I do hope you feel responsible."

Steve opens his mouth to reply, then blushes and looks down, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. Is that a nervous tic? Because it's adorable.

"Hey you guys should come down for dinner tonight. We don't have enough food for everybody, but you can bring whatever you've got and we'll cook it."

Bucky has unintentionally let his gaze drift down to Steve's chest, so it takes him a moment to formulate a sentence. In his hesitation, Steve's smile falls.

"Or if you'd rather just hang out with your friends, that's totally cool. I know this is your vacation to relax."

"Yeah, that sounds fun. Let's do it."

Steve's grin is back, brighter than ever, and when he turns to jog back down the beach to his site, Bucky doesn't even bother pretending not to watch. Steve glances back just before he turns out of sight and the bashful smile on his face is worth Bucky's embarrassment at being caught ogling.

* * *

Bucky wears his jeans and henley again, because it's the best thing he's got and he'd rather be caught wearing the same thing twice than any of the other rags in his duffle. 

But when they haul their caravan down the trail, Thor carrying the table and four chairs, Bucky carrying a cooler of food and Clint and Dugan carrying coolers of drinks and cutlery, Steve and the SUV are gone.

"A stray wandered in. Steve is bringing it to the _proper authorities_. Direct quote. Should be back soon," Natasha says to his unasked question, shooting him a smirk.

"Only thing that would've been better is if he'd saved it from a tree, right?" she says, and it's so eerily close to what he'd been thinking that a horrified look crosses his face before he can school it away. He's sure she saw it, but he covers as best he can.

"Yeah, he's a good guy."

Bucky helps Sam grill the brats and burgers and they line up their tables to create one big communal dinner. The tables aren't the same height, and there's not enough room for everyone around them, but Bucky and Clint sit off to the side with their plates on their laps.

Once everything is cleaned up and everyone has a beer in their hand, Steve's SUV comes rolling into the site. He parks and picks up a beer from the cooler by the tents as he makes his way over. He comes straight to Bucky.

"Hey, big hero."

Steve rolls his eyes. "C'mon, they gave me enough shit already."

"Steve, saved you a burger in the cooler," Sam calls, then returns to his conversation with Dugan.

"Thanks, man. I'm gonna..." Steve gestures to the cooler congregation.

"By all means."

Bucky watches Steve open three coolers before he finds the one with his saved burger in it. He has to bend over the metal table as he dresses the patty up with ketchup and mustard. Bucky tips his head, appreciating the view.

"Lecher," Clint whispers hotly directly into his ear. Bucky flinches away and smacks him with his metal hand. Clint yelps.

"Jesus, Robocop." He massages his arm for a second, then leans in conspiratorially. Bucky leans away, but Clint is undeterred. "Hey, you should move the truck back a little."

"Why?"

Clint wags his eyebrows and makes a complicated gesture with his head, shoulders and hands that Bucky can't for the life of him translate.

" _What_?"

Clint mumbles, "Mrfm frm hrm Steve."

Then Bucky gets it. "Oh my god. I'm here to chill with you assholes—though I'm not sure why—not get laid. He's not even—"

"He's absolutely into you, are you blind?"

A Prius coming down the drive distracts Bucky from the argument. As much as he wants to believe it, there's no way Steve is into him. That becomes solidified when an absolute bombshell steps out of the car and throws her hands in the air.

"Steve!"

"Peggy?" 

Her brown hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders and she's wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt. Not exactly camp clothes, although maybe she's one of those glampers. She runs over to Steve, who'd set down his burger to meet her halfway, and she leaps into his arms. He hugs her tightly and when he sets her feet back on the ground, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him square on the mouth.

She hugs him again before Natasha is prying her off to get a hug of her own. Bucky's forced a smile onto his face, just in case anyone wonders what he thinks of the new development. He needn't have worried about Steve looking over, he hasn't taken his eyes off Peggy. Why would he?

"And who are these gentlemen?" Peggy asks, eyeing Bucky. He'd be sidling up to her in a second if she hadn't just laid one on his crush.

"Clint, Dum-Dum, Thor and Bucky," Natasha says, pointing them out. They wave at her.

"Excellent," she says.

* * *

Steve is engaged with Peggy for the next hour, as Natasha builds up the fire, talking and laughing. From what he can gather, Peggy is Steve's good friend from childhood, who he hasn't seen in a while. She decided to surprise him by crashing the camping trip. Judging by the way they're standing closely together, Bucky has to assume that it's a little more than that. Every time he's glanced over, they've always been touching in some way. Her arm linked through his, his arm around her shoulders, hers wrapped around his waist. 

Of _course_ Steve is with Peggy. Look at her. Look at _him_. They're perfect. Bucky's trying to be glad that Steve is otherwise occupied after all. It's better this way.

He's joking around with Thor and Dugan when he hears a snippet of conversation. He's not listening for it, but Natasha's tone is secretive, and it jumps out at him.

"Did you bring them?" Natasha asks Peggy.

"The most illegal ones I could find."

It sounds like it's probably fireworks, which makes Bucky's hands start to shake. Even the metal one; it's wired to his brain after all. Before he can decide what to do, Steve appears next to him.

"Hi," he says, hand at the back of his neck again. Bucky thinks he smiles and says hello, but 75% of his brain is invested in trying to see through the paper bag Natasha is taking over to the edge of the site. 

Steve is saying something about Peggy, but Bucky can't hear it. If those fireworks are the pop and sizzle kind, he'll be ok. But no, of course they're not. Natasha takes a huge cylindrical rocket out of the bag and sets it in the dirt, shimmying it a little bit to find a good base. None of his friends see it, or they'd never let a lighter get near it. Bucky would rather not have his shortcomings on display anyway.

"I have to go," he says, cutting off whatever Steve was saying and turns and walks away without another word.

"Oh, o-kay," Steve says uncertainly. Bucky hears a slight commotion as people shuffle in the dirt, then a bang. He flinches so hard he kicks up a little dust, but otherwise his even pace is unchanged. 

One, two, three, breathe. Step, two, three, breathe. He'll be at the truck soon. And there it is. He crawls inside and tucks up into a ball. Stupidly, he hopes the guys will just let it go on. Let them fire off as many as they want and be none the wiser to Bucky's suffering. But he also knows them better than that.

There are only two more loud bang-pop-fizzles, then silence. He fights to stay in the present, taking note of the gentle sounds outside. There aren't any explosions or screams or gunfire. He hears loud footsteps approach, clearly telegraphed movement. 

"Y'alright?" Clint. It doesn't happen often anymore, but it had happened enough that his friend knows the drill. Bucky grunts in response. He hears a little shuffling and something placed on the bumper. A blanket and bottle of water, if he had to guess. 

* * *

**Thursday**

He drifts to sleep for a couple hours after he hears everyone else come back to camp and settle in, but wakes with a jolt at dawn. He stays in the back of the truck for another hour, then quietly slips out to make himself the first of many cups of coffee. Thor gets up after a while, and they talk quietly before the man goes off for his morning swim. 

Bucky is starting in on breakfast and his second cup of coffee when he sees Steve approach from the corner of his eye.

"You, again?"

He spreads his hands out with a sheepish grin. "Feed me once and I'll keep coming back."

"Coffee?"

"Nah, I'm good." Steve hovers awkwardly for a minute, but Bucky's nerves are too shot to save him. "I'm really sorry about the fire— about last night."

Bucky shrugs, feeling the nagging sense of _less_ creeping in on him. "You couldn't've known."

"Yeah," he says. "Still sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Sausage? Eggs?" Bucky offers, jabbing his spatula at the links in the pan. Steve shakes his head.

"Already ate. Well, I'll see ya," he says, and turns with one last friendly wave.

They take it easy that day, all of them hanging around their site. Bucky can't help feeling they're doing it for him and makes it clear he doesn't need to be treated gently. They've heard it all before and shrug it off like they don't know what he's talking about.

"I'm getting old, man, I can't party like I used to," Dum-Dum says when they're sitting quietly around the fire that night. Thor and Clint are playing lawn darts in the dying light. Clint always wins by a landslide. 

It's an early night. The earliest they've ever had. It feels sort of like the end of an era.

* * *

**Friday**

"Floatilla day?" Clint suggests the next morning. It's clear blue skies as far as the eye can see, which, with the towering pines surrounding them, is admittedly not that far. But there's not even one puffy cumulus cloud in sight, and it lifts Bucky's spirits. 

Bucky nods. "Looks like it."

Thor has to head back to California for work, so they say goodbye after breakfast. Bucky, Clint and Dum-Dum get their rafts and head down to the beach. Bucky's wearing a tie-dye T-shirt with his blue swim trunks and has the most sophisticated raft of them all. Clint has a donut floatie and Dum-Dum just has a pool noodle. 

"Should we ask them?" Clint says, tilting his head toward the other site.

Bucky shrugs. The embarrassment from his episode has worn off, and while his ratty old T-shirt is sure not to inspire lust, Steve is with Peggy anyway—he's gotta be. "Sure."

"You just wanna see Natasha in a bikini," Dugan accuses. 

"I wanna see _Steve_ in a bikini. Try and tell me you don't."

Dum-Dum laughs at the look on Bucky's face because _hell yes_ and that mental image is going to be haunting his dreams for weeks.

Bucky and Dum-Dum start walking along the beach, heading for the cove at the opposite end of the lake. After a while, Bucky looks back to see Clint, Steve and Sam catching up. Sam's wearing arm-floaties like a toddler and Steve has a flat mattress-style floatie. Bucky grins. Their groups actually mesh together pretty well.

They catch up by the time they reach the cove and Steve shoots him a smile. They launch their rafts in the shallows and paddle out into the open water, loosely lashing themselves together by a hand here, a foot there. Sam is holding onto Steve's floatie, Steve has a hand on Bucky's raft, Bucky's holding onto one end of Dum-Dum's noodle, and Clint's on the other.

"Hey, I like it when you guys touch my noodle," Dum-Dum says, and gets splashed from both sides.

Bucky closes his eyes as they float. Dum-Dum keeps making stupid noodle jokes he can't help but laugh at, but otherwise their chatter is quiet; peaceful.

"How long's Peggy here?" Bucky asks, because even if he can't date him, he'd still like to be Steve's friend.

"She's staying until we head out tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow._ Shit.

"I still can't believe she showed up. I haven't seen her in three, four years. She's the only one left who knew me how I was before."

"How were you before?" Bucky shifts up so he can rest his head on the side of the raft and watch Steve. He looks surprised.

"Oh, I mentioned it before—but I suppose, there were fireworks impending at the time."

"Yeah I didn't hear anything you were saying," Bucky admits. Steve looks surprised again.

"Oh. Well, when I was a kid, when Peggy knew me, I was sick a lot. Tiny thing, 90 lbs soaking wet, asthma, pneumonia. It was rough. That, and being gay made for some not-so-fun high school years."

Steve's hand moves, like it wants to go to the back of his neck, but he's carefully balanced on his floatie, so he stops it.

"Damn," Bucky says, because fist-pumping would probably not be an appropriate response to that admission. "Puberty hit you hard, huh?"

"Like a freight train," he says with a grin that makes the air-conditioner in Bucky's arm kick on.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Steve starts shifting on his mattress.

"Am I sinking?" He shifts some more, and water sloshes up over his arms. Ominous bubbles appear from under his chest. "I'm sinking!" He pulls the floatie up, trying to find the leak but only managing to squeeze the air out faster. "We're takin' on water!" he yells, and starts pretending to bail water off the poor deflated mattress. 

"Abandon ship!" Bucky yells, and grabs Steve's arm. Steve sloshes up into Bucky's raft, bringing a bunch of water with him. He pulls the sad dead mattress onto his lap.

"Dammit. I paid two dollars for this thing at Walmart." 

Bucky's snorting a little bit he's laughing so hard, but still manages to reach out to grab onto Clint before he can float away. Steve's on his left and they're sitting sideways in the raft that was made for one teenager, not two full-size men. Steve's sun-warm skin is pressed all up his side, from knee to shoulder, including his metal arm. Bucky shifts it away.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"It's ok," Steve says instantly. He tips his ear down closer to the arm. "Is that...a fan?"

Bucky chuckles. "Yeah. Internal cooling. Otherwise it'd bake me on a day like this."

"That is so...badass," Steve says, like he's admitting a secret, smiling up at Bucky. Their faces are so close he can feel Steve's breath ghosting across his cheek, and all he wants is to snuggle up to that solid expanse of naked muscle and take a deep breath in—but again, probably not socially acceptable.

A motor roaring to life has them both looking toward the landing. Two guys in a fishing boat are tearing across the lake like idiots. The waves they create jostle Steve against his metal arm.

"Idiots," Bucky mutters, to cover the hitch in his breath. 

When Clint cracks a stupid joke a few minutes later, Bucky pushes away from him in disgust. Clint gasps and reaches out to him, but his fingers just barely brush Bucky's raft.

"Nooooooooooooooo!"

Bucky splashes to keep him from coming back for them, leaving him and Steve to float on their own. 

"It's your last night. You gonna come have some drinks with us?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah, sure, that'd be great."

"Leave your fireworks at home."

Steve's laugh bursts from his chest and he nearly tips backward. He throws out a hand to stop himself, brushing against Bucky's chest and metal arm. The sensation is...interesting. Tony's the only one who ever touches the arm, when he takes readings or does adjustments. Bucky is very careful to keep it that way. He's been with a couple guys since the accident, just one-night stands, but he always kept his arm out of the picture. He doesn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.

But Steve. Steve thinks it's cool. And the warmth of his strong hand has the pressure and temperature sensors buzzing. Immediately, Bucky wants him to touch it again. He relaxes a little bit as they chat, letting his arm rest against Steve's. Just that little bit of contact takes his breath away.

"Is it ok?" Bucky asks, throwing his eyes down to his arm, just to make sure.

"Yeah, it's fine," Steve says dismissively, then goes on talking about his art major and how it has helped him absolutely zero in finding a job, but he had the  _best_ time in college.

* * *

Bucky pulls the raft up onto the beach while Steve inspects his mattress again. The others are already up at the site.

"I think somebody sabotaged me."

"My money's on Natasha." 

They wordlessly agree to go up to Bucky's site, and Bucky hands Steve a beer out of the cooler. Dugan is drying his ass over the coals from the breakfast fire and Clint is rifling around in the tent. He comes back with a bag of chips that he offers to everyone. 

"Alright, I'm chafing," Bucky says, after they've snacked a little, and moves toward the truck.

"'Kay I'm gonna go change too. See ya tonight?" he says. Bucky throws him a saucy grin over his shoulder, because why not? He's not with Peggy, and he plays for Bucky's team. He can give it a shot. Steve looks slightly dazed, and it bolsters Bucky's confidence enough to throw him a wink too.

"See ya tonight."

* * *

"Shiiiiit," Bucky says from inside the truck. Clint and Dugan bust up into laughter. 

"Just wear that tie-dye number. It screams sex appeal."

"Dugan you're not helping," Bucky mutters.

"Are you gonna move the truck, now?" Clint says, and Bucky has known him long enough to hear the unspoken  _I told you so_.

"No, I'm not going to move the truck. If I get lucky you fuckers are gonna get an earful."

Dugan groans. Something pelts the window of the truck cap. Probably a pine cone.

He wears his jeans and a Race for the Cure T-shirt, because he hasn't worn it yet and it's just tight enough around his chest to maybe be a little alluring. They cook hobo pasties for dinner; ground beef, carrots and potatoes wrapped in tin foil over the fire. 

Afterwards, Dugan has to "go do something" in the direction of the outhouse and Clint goes to see if he can flirt with Natasha some more. Dum-Dum's guitar is leaning against his chair by the fire, so Bucky picks it up and sits. He wraps his metal hand around the neck and strums once. The vibrations that shoot up the arm make stars flash behind his eyelids.

He never thought his metal fingers would have the dexterity needed to hold guitar strings, since he'd had such a hard time with things like shirt buttons and zippers in the beginning. He hadn't even tried it. He wants to hit himself, because as he works out a couple chords, he feels like himself again. Like he felt before the war, before the explosion, just hanging out around the fire with his friends at camp. Just Bucky.

He glances up, surprised to find Steve standing a few feet away, holding a folded lawn chair and an unopened beer. His lips are parted and his eyes are wide, but when he sees Bucky catch sight of him, he flashes a smile.

"You sound good."

Bucky feels like a raw nerve. After touching Steve with the arm today, and the deep vibrations from the guitar, he's a little bit amped up. Praise coming from Steve's deep voice almost snaps him. He clears his throat.

"Thanks. First time I've picked one up since the accident. I didn't think I'd be able to do it."

"That's great," Steve says after a pause. Bucky thinks it's not what he was going to say.

Steve sets his chair down a few feet from Bucky. Not far enough that another chair could fit between them, but not close enough to clearly make a statement. 

"You flying or driving back to the city?" Bucky asks.

"Driving. Sam and I drove down together with all the stuff. Tasha flew in and met us."

"We should—" Bucky's perfectly innocent suggestion to get together for drinks is interrupted when Dum-Dum comes running back into the campsite, still buttoning up his fly.

"Sweet mother of dick," he heaves. "That spider was bigger than the shit I just took."

"Oh my god Dugan."

Steve had leapt out of his chair, probably ready to get into a fist fight with a bear if need be, but he plops back down and starts laughing.

Sam, Peggy, Natasha and Clint come strolling down together a few minutes later, carrying chairs and coolers. Bucky stokes the fire, carefully allowing good ventilation so it will breathe and grow. He keeps adding logs until the flames are big enough that they all have to back away.

"Uh-oh, is it a fire-walking night, Barnes?" Clint asks.

"I don't know, I'm gonna need some firewater first."

Sam passes his bottle of godawful vodka around the circle until it reaches Bucky, who throws the plastic cap in the fire.

"Hey!" Sam protests, laughing.

"Gotta finish it now!" Bucky says, taking a swig and passing it to Steve, who's smiling at him.

"Bad influence," he mutters, but tips the bottle to his lips anyway, his eyes not leaving Bucky's. 

Somebody eventually just _tosses_ a log haphazardly on Bucky's carefully constructed fire, and he pisses and moans good-naturedly as he fixes it.

An hour or so later, Bucky's pleasantly sauced, standing at the edge of the circle. Steve had got up to piss and everyone else was standing, so Bucky got up to join in, but was drawn to the edge of the slope that leads down to the beach. Outside of the circle of firelight, it's a little bit cool, and he zips his hoodie halfway.

It's a clear night, and the stars are countless. He tips his face up to them in wonder.

"You don't get this in the city," Steve says quietly from his left.

"No, you don't."

After a moment, he's aware Steve is still looking at him, so he turns his face to him.

"Can I have your number?" he asks. Bucky smiles.

"Yes."

"Can I take you out to dinner?" Steve asks, like he's trying to make his intentions clear. Bucky bites his lower lip in a failed attempt to stop his grin. Steve's eyes drop to stare at the movement.

"Yes."

"Can I kiss you?" The question is a little breathless, and his eyes flick back up as he asks permission. The flutter in Bucky's stomach becomes a tornado.

"Yes," he says, and Steve steps in almost before he finishes the word, pressing their mouths together. He rests his hands on Bucky's hips, pulling them flush together. Bucky rests his right hand on Steve's absolutely ridiculous chest, sliding it up to the side of his neck. When Steve shifts the angle of the kiss to take Bucky's lower lip into his mouth, he circles his fingers around Bucky's metal wrist and pulls the arm around his waist. The pressure has Bucky sighing into his mouth, and Steve's warm hand presses against the small of his back, just above the curve of his ass, just low enough to make Bucky's blood sing.

The chatter around the fire breaks their attention, and Bucky leans back. Steve hasn't let go of his hips, and he follows Bucky's lips for one more kiss. They grin at each other for a moment, but Bucky has to step away before he gets too excited. He turns to face the lake again, and looks up at the stars. Steve does the same. The back of Steve's hand is brushing the back of Bucky's metal one, and he reaches out to hook their index fingers together.

It's stupid and lame, but Bucky can't remember the last time he was so happy he wanted to scream.

* * *

They get roped back into the raucous misconduct around the fire by jeers and cajoling.

"C'mon Casanova, you gotta finish this bottle!"

* * *

Steve doesn't leave his side all night, except to go to the cooler or to the edge of the woods to piss. After the third or fourth time he goes to the cooler for another beer, Bucky is hot on his heels. 

"I'll take another," he says, when Steve is bent over the cooler. He straightens and hands him a can, but Bucky shakes his head. "I meant one of these." He grabs a handful of Steve's plaid button down and pulls him in. He's just over the edge of buzzed and getting into drunk territory, so he's probably a little overzealous, nipping at Steve's lip and sliding their tongues together, but Steve doesn't seem to mind.

There's a dull thud behind him as Steve drops his beer in the dirt.

"Shit," he mutters absentmindedly against Bucky's lips, but makes use of his free hand to slide it up under the hem of Bucky's shirt. His hand is icy cold from the cooler and Bucky gasps and jerks back. He steps on Steve's dropped beer can and his foot flies out from under him. He tumbles backward into the dirt, arms flailing.

"Oh shit!" Steve says, lunging for him, but Bucky is already rolling in the sand, laughing so hard he's braying like a drunk donkey.

"Bucky, are you ok?" Steve is saying, and Bucky can only just barely nod, throwing his hands over his face because even through the vodka he knows he's acting like an idiot. But then Steve starts laughing too, leaning over to press his forehead against the backs of Bucky's hands, and Bucky's laughter starts all over again.

It's a good twenty minutes before they can gather themselves enough to get up and brush the dirt off each other, and their friends roll their eyes at them the whole time.

* * *

** Saturday **

It's almost dawn by the time Steve and Natasha head back to their campsite. Sam and Peggy had been the smart ones and left hours ago. Bucky had done his best to get Steve to stay, dropping the least subtle hints he could.

"My sleeping bag's a double." "There might be bears in the woods." All lies, of course, but if he could just get Steve into the back of the truck, it wouldn't matter. Steve just shook his head and left him with a sweet goodnight kiss.

Now Bucky feels like an asshole. As soon as he can open his eyes without wanting to vomit he's going to apologize until he turns blue in the face. Steve is nice, and sweet, and fun. Bucky wants him up, down and sideways. Getting tanked and falling all over him isn't the way to a good man's heart.

Somebody slaps a hand on the truck window and says "Coffee." It sounds like Clint but he can't be sure. He slowly makes his way outside and doesn't open his eyes until a hot cup is pressed into his hand.

"Fucking..." Clint starts, but can't seem to pin down what he wants to curse, so he trails off. Bucky murmurs his agreement.

After two cups of coffee, he takes a piss behind the truck and brushes his teeth, then heads down the trail to get a head start on the apologies. Steve meets him halfway. He looks a little worse for wear, hair a mess and wearing the same clothes from the night before, but still so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.

"Hey," Bucky says with a rueful smile.

"Hey."

"Look, I'm really sorry."

"Me too!" Steve says, then looks startled. "Wait, what are you sorry for?"

"I was a sloppy handsy drunk. I swear I'm not usually like that."

Steve grins. "Yeah, I figured."

"What're you sorry for?" If Steve says it was all a mistake, Bucky might die.

Steve grimaces. "You were drunk. I let it go too far. I took advantage."

This is the best thing that's ever happened to him. Bucky shakes his head.

"I wasn't that drunk. Plus, I've wanted you to kiss me since you gave me those blueberries."

Steve beams. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Probably even before."

Steve squints at him. "We didn't know each other before that."

Bucky shrugs. "So." He gets the feeling he's been waiting his whole life for this man.

Steve shakes his head, but finally closes the distance between them, lacing his fingers together at the small of Bucky's back.

"You're a romantic," he accuses.

Bucky looks left and right, "Shhh!" Then he grins and runs his hands—both of them—up Steve's arms to his shoulders. God, he's solid. Bucky can't _wait_ to—

Steve dips his head to kiss him; just once, but it's enough to derail Bucky's train of thought. "I gotta run; we need to get on the road. I'll call you."

Bucky walks him back to his site and he hops in the passenger seat with Sam, who has the car packed and idling.

Bucky waves at their taillights as they drive away. Natasha, following behind in her hatchback, stops just in front of him and rolls down her window.

"We gonna see you in the city?" 

Bucky nods. "Yep."

* * *

***

* * *

** Saturday **

Bucky is sitting on Steve's lap, holding the chords on the guitar with his left hand and singing while Steve strums with his right. Peggy is clapping and everybody joins in for the chorus. 

Dugan's here again, and Thor managed to snag Jane for a couple days. Tony is probably going to land his helicopter on the lake at some point; Steve can't _wait_ for that. Clint and Natasha are sharing a tent this year, and Bruce booked the other site all to himself, but has since allowed Sam to move his tent down the way, citing 'noise disturbances.' 

The entire lake is theirs. 

When they finish their song (not at all rehearsed! No, we're just in sync like that!), Bucky dips his head to kiss his boyfriend, then passes the guitar to Dum-Dum.

Every day of the past year has been the best day of Steve's life, until the next day comes. He's actually been trying to figure out how to ask Bucky to marry him for the last _eight_ _months_. In the end, it's not that hard, at all. 

He and Bucky take their own private floatilla in Bucky's raft, dubbed the S.S. Stucky by Clint, for all the making out they've been doing in it this week. (Natasha has since admitted to sabotaging Steve's floatie mattress the year before.) Bucky's shirtless, eyes closed to the sun. In fact, he's barely put a shirt on at all in the past week. Not only is Steve  _not complaining_ , he's incredibly proud of how far Bucky's come. Steve's birthday was still kind of hard on him, but it was leaps and bounds of progress. Steve can't believe his good luck that someone as gorgeous, strong and all-around amazing as Bucky wants to stick around with him. 

"Hey," Steve says. "Can I ask you something?" Bucky grins, then opens one eye.

"Yes."

"Will you marry me?" Bucky's other eye pops open and when he lurches over to plant a kiss on him, he tips them both into the water. 

When they break the surface, Bucky is laughing, trying not to hyperventilate and struggling between trying to kiss him and also get back into the raft to save himself from any killer fish. He winds up with one arm on the raft and the other behind Steve's head so he can pull them together. The kiss is wet with lake water and familiar in the best way.

"Killer fish," he whispers against Steve's lips.

"I'll protect you," Steve whispers back and moves to kiss him again, but Bucky pulls away suddenly.

"Oh, and yes. I will marry you." He grins.

"Yeah, I kind of figured."


End file.
